Nope. They don't.

He sat, staring at the DissedChord inbox the entire weekend. Nothing showed up in his email, for 80 straight hours he stared, from Thursday at two in the afternoon when he got home from work, until midnight, when Sunday became Monday. He set his well blackened bubble down. He spent nearly 80 hours hitting that thing every three to five minutes, even when he was in the zone of focus, especially in the zone of focus. A half ounce gone in 80 hours. He'd be spun for days. He looked down and saw that he must've subconciously daydreaming about being the hot sissy slut being surrounded in a blowbang.

"Fuck" he said as his half ounce was gone already. Well, at least I've got the bubbles to scrape until I can get a zip after work. He stood up with his right arm raised to grab an old cigar box which housed a dozen **** frosted bubbles that was in a cabinet above his head and suddenly, his world went black.